Life is a riddle
by IaMcHrIsSi
Summary: Life is a riddle, as the people of Westeros are about to learn. Or, that AU where Robb Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen live and there is actually a chance for a happy ending.
1. Prologe

**AN: So, you know, I'm a sucker for happy endings and considering GRRM is not likely to give us one, I decided to write one myself. This is wildly AU, with a few actually dead characters living and other things being different as well. Just try it, okay?**

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It was dark, but very hot in the city of Lys. The hour of the wolf, people would have called it in Westeros, but this was one of the free cities. Hardly anybody even spoke the common tongue here.

Robb Stark sighed. He had been here for three month now, always careful not to draw any attention to himself. Before Lys, there had been Pentos, and before that the year he spend in Westeros, always on the run, recovering from the grave injuries he had gotten at the Twins. The Red Wedding they called it now, he had heard. The first few months after it he did not remember. According to Dacey and Smalljon, he had been unconcious through most of it. They had found him after Grey Wind had saved him. When he had woken properly for the first time, he had heard that Sansa had disappeared as well, accused of having killed the king. He was not a stupid man, he knew that meant she was most likely just as dead as Arya. He had nothing left. Nothing worth fighting for. His father was dead, just as his siblings, he had seen his mother and his pregnant wife being killed, his kingdom lost. The look in Jeyne's eyes when she died still haunted Robb's dreams every night, just as the sight of his dead mother did. If it had not been for Dacey and Smalljon, he would have probably given up. But his two trusted guards had not given up. They had gotten him here, safe and alive, and every day he looked into their eyes and saw the faith they still had in him, saw them still believing. Sometimes it was just to much.

Robb looked into the sky. He did that often, studying the stars as if they held the answers to his questions. They seemed different from the stars at home, even though he could not describe what made him think that. Maybe it was just the wish to go home.

"Missing your love, boy?" A voice asked from behind. The man had spoken in the tongue of Lys, but with a slight accent that indicated he was actually a Westerosi. Robb saw Dacey and Smalljon tense and reach for their weapons, but he shook his head almost the slightest bit.

"Missing home." He answered in the common tongue. He understood Lyseni quite well, but he could not speak it.

"Me too." The man answered with a small laugh, also in the common tongue. His hair was very bright, almost white, Robb noted, and his eyes had a violet shimmer.

"Where is you home?" Robb asked.

"Far away, just as yours." The man answered. He was roughly the age his father would have been now, Robb noticed.

"Do you plan on going back?" He asked.

"I don't know. I have nothing waiting for me, and I'm not sure if it's worth it. What about you?" The stranger said.

"Same." Robb answered with and unhappy chuckle.

The stranger smiled, and something about this smile was weirdly familiar. Robb could not place it, he didn't know what it was, but something in this smile made him instinctively want to trust the man.

"Who are you?" He asked.

"Me? That's a good question. I once was a knight, but then I ran. I was a son, but my father went mad. I was a husband, but then I fell in love and married a second woman, the lady of my heart. I was a father, but my children were murdered. I was many things, but I can't tell you what I am now."

There was something, at the edge of Robbs mind, that seemed strange. A fleeting thought, an idea. The man stared at Robb, and the he smiled this familiar smile again.

"But looking at you, I think you have quite a story as well. A direwolf in Lys, two guards for a man dressed like a lowly merchants son... that just doesn't seem fitting." The man sighed. "Do you think revenge is worth it? Do you think picking up a sword, taking back what's yours and kill everybody who ever harmed you or your family is worth it?"

"I don't know." Robb said, then took a deep breath. He liked this man. "Is rising from the death worth it?"

"I don't know." The stranger answered and confirmed Robb's suspicion.

"Robb Stark." He introduced himself, seeing Dacey and Smalljon flinch.

"Rhaegar Targaryen." The dragon prince said while shaking Robb's hand.

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**AN: So, that's the prologue. What do you think? Should I go on?**


	2. Alayne

**Alayne**

The musicians were a bit off. Clearly, they weren't used to playing only their instruments, but the Lord Protector of the Vale still hated singers with a passion, so Alayne had made sure that nobody would sing in his presence.

Other than the musicians, the feast went of without a hitch. The food tasted good, the wine was nice enough and everybody was in a good mood. Alayne had not been the one to organize it, but she had helped Randa. It had been nice to spend time with her friend, and even her father would have approved. Sadly, though, her father was in King's Landing, doing something for the Queen Regent. He hadn't told Alayne what he was doing there, but she knew it had something to do with the Iron Bank of Bravos. He was slipping. He told her things he didn't want to tell her and Alayne always listened.

"Look, Alayne, he is starring at you!" An exited Myranda Royce whispered into her ear, a bit to loud, but Alayne pretended not to notice. She turned, ever so slightly, to see that Harry the Heir was in fact staring at her. She remembers how she first met him, at a little feast, with only a few other guests. There had been an "official" reason for that feast, but everyone had known the real reason was that Lady Waynwood wanted to her nephew to meet Alayne. Harrold Hardying had turned out to be a knight of 18 years, a handsome young man who knew how to dance and how charm a girl. Alayne had known immediately why most maidens thought him a knight like in the songs. They had talked a bit, then they had danced and then he had asked her to write him. She did, of course. Her father had told her how important it was that Harry liked her, so she did her best to make him want her. They had started to meet and she had made sure to always be just as charming as he was. Judging by the look he was giving her now, it had worked.

Alayne discreetly watched as Harry drowned his cup of wine and stood up. He walked to her and asked: "May I ask you to dance?"

Alayne offered him her prettiest smile and nodded shyly. Once, a long time ago, she would have been absolutely in love with him and praised his blue eyes and golden hair and nice voice and good manners. Now she was cleverer.

"My aunt seems quite captivated by you, dear Alayne." He told her while they began to move with the music.

"I'm honored." She said blushing. Usually, she really hated it when she blushed, for it told others what she thought, but now it came in handy. Father had told her that she looked very innocent when she blushed.

"Oh yes, she really likes you. And I have to admit, I do too. You are quite beautiful, my dear." He told her, sparks in his blue eyes.

"My lord is too kind." She answered. _Charm him,_ she reminded herself. _You have to make him like you._ Alayne and her father had big plans. Plans that would not work if Harry scorned her.

"How often must I tell you to call me Harry? I'm not a lord, at least not yet. I'm a knight, but you're my betrothed. How did Randa ever get you to stop calling her My Lady?" He asked chuckling.

"I'm sorry, my … Harry. It's … just force of habit. I will try to remember." She smiled her most innocent smile. _Mother always called Father my lord._ She almost stumbled then. That was not Alayne. Alayne's mother had died giving birth to her, she didn't remember her. Alayne did not have a mother.

"What is it, Alayne? Are you well?" Harry asked concernedly. Alayne thought quickly. She had some things she needed to do when nobody could see her doing it, and Harry was giving her the perfect escape.

"Actually, Harry, I don't feel to well." She said, adding a slightly meek tone to her voice. As she had hoped, the concern in his eyes became more evident and he offered her to take her to her rooms. Graciously, she accepted.

The moment the door closed behind Harry, Alayne took the pins out of her hair. It was donned up in a complicated style that she knew Harry liked. Alayne hated it. It had nothing of the simple grace of the northern hair style.

She waited a few minutes, than she changed into a more simple that made her look more like a servant maid than the betrothed of a lord and made her way to Maester Colemons chamber. The maester had become her only ally in this game. He still remembered how her father, her true father, and his best friend had grown up here and he held no loyalty to Littlefinger. He was the only man in the Vale that she trusted.

"Dear, are you feeling well?" He asked when she knocked at his door. He looked concerned, just like Harry had, but the old mans concern was much more welcome to Alayne. The maester did not want to bed her.

"Could I come in?" She asked. Going to the maester because she wasn't feeling well was something people would expect her to do, so nobody would question her presence here, but what she would discuss with the maester was not meant for anybody else's ears, so she sat down on the chair he offered and waited until he had closed the door.

"Here." He said while handing her a little letter. She quickly read over it. It was from Maege Mormont, informing her that the man who claimed to be Jon Connington had taken Dragonstone. She furrowed her brows, that didn't make much sense. Jon Connington had no business at Dragonstone. From the beginning, she had had the feeling that there was more to this Jon Connington than there seemed to be. The Golden Company didn't break their contracts for just some exile knight. She made a mental note to thank Lady Mormont. The Mormont were one of her few connections to the political world that did not depend on Littlefinger. She quickly burned the letter and looked up to Maester Colemon.

"There has been another raven for you." He said smiling and handed her the letter.

Carefully, she unrolled the script. A smile broke on her face when she saw the familiar handwriting. This letters where one of the few things that made her truly smile this days.

_Dear sister_, they always started. And they always ended with _Yours, your brother_. In between, Jon told her about everything and nothing, about what was happening on the wall and what jokes he had laughed about with his sworn brothers, about what he thought Stannis was doing and about dreams he had had the night before, about high politics and highly personal matters. And in every letter, he offered her help escaping which she always declined. She did not need to be saved, at least not yet.

Sansa and Jon had gotten close in the last year, closer than she'd ever expected. They hadn't seen each other in over three years, but sometimes, when she read his letters, she felt as if he was standing right beside her, the brother she had been close to now her best friend. She still remembered when she had sent her first letter with the help of Maester Colemon, furiously apologizing for how she treated him when they were younger and with orders for him to be more careful, to stay in bed until he was fully healed. It had been the morning after she had heard about the assassination attempt by his own sworn brothers and that he was healing. His answer had been full of joy to find out she was alive and well and with a promise to try not to get killed.

Now, Sansa smiled at him telling her about how little Shireen Baratheon had started a snowball fight with some of the new recruits. After a while, she looked up to find that the maester had gone, but left her what she needed to write an answering letter.

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**AN: So, that's the first real chapter. I was overwhelmed by the response, really guys, you're great! I hope you like this! It will be a rather complicated story, but I hope you keep reading!**


	3. Nymeria

**AN: Here's the next chapter. This time straight out of King's Landing!**

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Nymeria

Nymeria hated King's Landing. It stank, it was ugly and it was loud. There was never a silent hour here, never a moment of peace. Not that Nymeria wanted peace. She wanted revenge. Revenge for her father, revenge for her aunt, revenge for her cousins. Still, a silent moment would have been nice.

Sighing, Nymeria stood up. She had a council meeting to attend today, and she did not want to arrive late. King's Landing had proven the pit of snakes her uncle had promised and like Doran had predicted, the mighty Lord Tyrell and the Queen Regent weren't happy to have her here. They saw it as an insult, Nymeria knew, and that alone made her smile. Any insult to Cersei Lannister was a reason for her to smile.

Carefully, she dressed. She chose a soft red dress that offered a nice view on her curves. The High Septon would think it indecent, but Nymeria didn't care for the High Septon. Tyene would deal with that one. All the other lords would act offended, but secretly ogle her when they thought nobody would notice and the lovely Queen Regent would try very hard to act as if she didn't notice what Nymeria was wearing. Cersei Lannister knew that she couldn't rival Nymeria's body and beauty, and it was eating her up inside. Nymeria smiled at that thought.

After she made sure none of the ten daggers she had hidden on her body were in sight she left her room. On her way, she met Petyr Baelish, the master of coin. He was the Lord Protector of the Vale now too, Nymeria knew, following the death of his wife. She had murdered by a singer, and her son, little Robert Arryn was far to young to rule. So Petyr Baelish had stepped up. Nymeria did not trust the man. He thought himself a player of the game of thrones, and he most definitively was, and like all real players he did not support the Lannisters without a reason. Sure, he had to thank them for all he was now, for he had been born a lowly lord's son in the Riverlands, but Nymeria knew that he would turn his cloak the moment he saw a chance to gain more. He, at least, didn't underestimate her like some of the other lords here did. Thinking about it, it made sense. Nymeria had heared whispers about his bastard daughter, Alayne Stone. The girl was betrothed to Harrold Hardying, the heir of the Vale, and was said to be a beauty. Also, people said she more or less ran the Eyrie when they had been up there still. Littlefinger, Nymeria guessed, knew how clever bastard girls could be.

"My lady Nymeria." He greeted her.

"My lord Baelish." She nodded her head.

"Young princess Myrcella asked for you, I heared. She seems to like you a great deal." Baelish said.

"She is a sweet girl." Nymeria answered. Myrcella was indeed sweet, sweet and innocent and naïve. Nymeria pitied the girl. She wasn't a player, she just wanted things to be nice and good. Nymeria had tried to hate her, because the princess was a Lannister, because she was of the family that caused her family so much pain, but that had proved impossible. Now she pitied her. Myrcella was pawn in this game, and she would never be anything else. She would always be a bargaining chip, always a price to be won. She would always be seen as her mothers daughter, her brothers sister, her (step) fathers child. Nobody would ever see just Myrcella. Yes, Nymeria pitied the girl, and whenever she saw her, she thanked the gods for being a bastard, for not having any expectations put on her when she was a child except for her own.

They arrived in the council room to see the little king sitting there, the crown heavy on his head. He was nine now, a child by all accounts, yet he tried very hard to look kingly. His mother was right beside him, an expression of slight disdain on her face. She wore red as well, the crimson of house Lannister, a roaring lion stitched on the dress. She tried to look regal, had done so ever since the walk of penance, but never quite worked out. She had lost most of the respect the smallfolk and the lords were holding for her that day, but nobody ever told her that. The queen was angered very quickly and would snap at even the slightest thing, evil meant or not.

Next to her, fat Lord Tyrell sat. Mace Tyrell was Hand of the King, but only because he had more or less openly threatened to relinquish the support his house gave the little Lannister king if he did not get this position. His daughter was in Highgarden, proven innocent of the crimes she had been accused of but "recovering" from the shock and her time in the cells. Nymeria was sure that Tyrell would turn his cloak almost as easily as Littlefinger if somebody came that offered him more than the Lannisters.

"Jon Connington has taken Dragonstone." Varys said. Nymeria watched the eunuch carefully. She was certain that the Spider had his own agency. A man like Varys, even if he wasn't a true man, did not help people like the Lannisters for no reason. There was more to him, and she had made it her goal to figure him out. Sadly, though, she could not seduce him as she had seduced her dear Ser Arys.

"Who does this man think he is?" Mace Tyrell thundered. Nymeria remembered that his son Loras had tried to take the castle as well, but failed and very nearly lost his life. He was in Highgarden now, and if the rumors were true, nearer to death than to life.

"An exile knight." Varys supplied. Nymeria smiled.

"He certainly is a problem." Littlefinger said.

"If it was just taken from the outside, wouldn't it be easier for us to take it now?" Nymeria asked. The Queen shot her an unhappy look.

"You don't know the first bit about war, bastard. Dragonstone will never be easy to take. If you don't know what the talk is about, keep your mouth shut." She snarled. Nymeria smiled. Cersei Lannister was digging her own grave, and watching it was quite amusing, for she still thought to be winning this game.

Behind her, the door opened. The High Septon had arrived, but Nymeria only had eyes for the apprentice beside him. Tyene. Finally she got to see at least one of her beloved sisters again.

"Pardon me for arriving late, I had business to attend." The High Septon said. "May I introduce you to Leah, one of the apprentices. She has been a great help for me in the past months." Tyene smiled sweetly, looking shy, but Nymeria wasn't fooled. Tyene had never been shy, but she was very good at acting as if she was.

"There has been a letter of your … uncle." Cersei said, looking at Nymeria. She tensed ever so slightly, not sure what that meant. Doran had not contacted her during her stay in the capital. Why would he write to the queen.

"He writes that the man who attacked Myrcella has finally been found. And obviously you owe your … stepmother? Your fathers paramour won some bet about your little sister? I don't know why your uncle writes this in an official letter, but obviously you owe her three dragons." Cersei Lannister shook her head and went on discussing how to beat back Jon Connington while Nymeria took a deep breath. There hadn't been a bet with Ellaria. It was all about giving this word an innocent sense, something Cersei wouldn't question. Dragons. She met Tyene's eyes. Their time was coming.


End file.
